ession. The leader of the troop was Baltasar de
Villabuena.

Utterly bewildered by what he saw, Herrera turned to the Mochuelo.

"What are they?" he demanded, "and whither going?"

"You see what they are," answered the partisan. "Carlist lancers. They
are going, I fear, to the convent."

"How, to the convent? Does that road lead to it?"

"It does. At some distance up this valley the mountains sink, and there
is a track over them practicable for horsemen; the same which we shall
follow. When they reach the other side of the mountain they are within
ten minutes' ride of the convent."

Herrera remained for a moment as if petrified by what he heard.

"There can be no doubt," he exclaimed, "they go to remove her. Baltasar
is with them. We shall come too late. Mochuelo, you will no longer
refuse to act, and that on the instant. We must surprise and destroy the
detachment, then at once attack the convent and make our way back to
Pampeluna as best we may. If we wait till evening, the expedition might
as well not have been attempted. It will be too late."

For an instant or two the Mochuelo stood silent and thoughtful,
endeavouring to reconcile in his mind compliance with Herrera's
passionately urged wishes, and the dictates of common prudence.

"It is impossible, Captain Herrera," said he. "If there were only one
chance in twenty in our favour I would attempt it, but there would not
be one in a thousand. If we leave this before evening, we shall never
see to-morrow's sun. Much against my will I must refuse your request."

The firm and decided tone of this refusal exasperated Herrera, already
almost frantic at the thoughts of the new peril to which Rita was to be
exposed. He lost all self-command, his lip curled with a smile of scorn,
his look and tone expressed the most cutting contempt as he again
addressed the Mochuelo.

"What!" cried he, "is this the renowned, the fearless guerilla, whose
deeds have made him the dread of his foes and the admiration of his
friends! This the daring soldier whom no peril deters, who now talks of
danger, and calculates chances like a recruit or a woman! Oh, no! It is
not the same, or if it be, his courage has left him, and cowardice has
replaced daring."

On hearing himself thus unjustly and intemperately reproached, the
Mochuelo turned very pale, and his left hand sunk down as though seeking
the hilt of his sabre. His two followers, on sentry among the bushes,
who had not lost a w